


The Best Laid Plans

by shichan_DFKink (shinchansgirl)



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Complete, Kink Meme, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinchansgirl/pseuds/shichan_DFKink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Harry and Marcone pretend to be a couple in order to prevent Mab from forcing Harry to do anything sex-related. Harry's not sure about the idea at first, because while he has faked gay before it's never been with a mob boss, but Marcone's the only candidate with enough power to make Mab respect his claim. They have to be really careful about not telling any direct lies, and Harry starts to think that it might just be easier (and more fun) to make them true... which was Marcone's evil plan all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans

Marcone hadn’t been first on my list of people to visit when the smoke cleared and the dust had settled, but he’d shown up while I was on my way to the Water Beetle, and I hadn’t said no.

That, actually, was a little confusing for me. If I thought about it too much, I didn’t really know why I’d gotten in the car with him. My gut had told me, however, that I didn’t want to be on the water just yet, didn’t want to make myself vulnerable, and Gentleman John was proving his Gentleman status by offering me a meal. To discuss things.

Free food sounded good, as battered as I was.

And then he’d offered me the spare bedroom in his home – a quiet little place, not the grand mansion I’d expected. Just a two bedroom house with a den and a fireplace in the livingroom. It had a threshold, even; not much, but more than I expected from a typical mafia bachelor. We didn’t really get to discussing things until breakfast the next morning, where I proceeded to spit out my cornflakes at his proposal. And I mean that literally.

“Excuse me?” I asked. “I think I might have suffered some ear damage, because I thought you just asked if I wanted to be your – your –“

“Domestic partner,” he concluded. “Yes, you heard me right.”

“ _Why_?”

“I do not know the exact details of your bargain with the fae, but whatever you offered in exchange must have significant in order for you to achieve all that you have recently.”

I stirred the flakes in my milk, not all that interested in eating anymore. “Yeah,” I admitted. “It kind of was.”

He waited for a moment, but I wasn’t about to tell him I’d become the Winter Knight – essentially traded myself – for that power. I didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

“Well, my contacts have noted repeated that bargaining with the fae is not often in the best interests of any mortal, and that their deals tend to be long-lasted. They have also mentioned,” he continued, before I could agree, “that they tend to also ask their mortal – victims, for lack of a better term – for sexual service, and that the only acceptable away to avoid said services is to be in a committed relationship with someone else.”

I almost laughed. “They mean in love.”

“Is this information wrong?”

I shrugged. “Not exactly. The fae can’t really force anything, but they can make it damn painful if you don’t agree. Most people give in before it gets that far. The fae can make you wish you were dead, and you give in hoping that it will make things better but it really only makes it worse. Differently worse, perhaps, or maybe just differently painful.”

“But a relationship can ease some of that,” Marcone said.

“True love eases that,” I countered. “Look, the fae only recognize one type of sport, and that’s sex. To them it’s like going out to watch football. But there’s the big-league football games they show on tv and there’s the football you play in the backyard with your girlfriend. The kind you do with your girl – the kind you don’t want your buddies to see because they’ll think you’ve gone soft – is the equivalent of love. Something treasured, that’s no different in basic physics from what they show on tv, but has a lot more meaning. It has to be the kind of relationship with that deep meaning, or to them… it’s just football, and anyone can join in.”

There was a pause as he processed what I’d said. My cornflakes had gone soggy, but I took a bite anyways. It was better than watching him think.

“Aside from the rather impractical metaphor,” Marcone said, “I think that is the most detailed anyone has come to explaining the situation to me.”

I shrugged. “It’s a bit complicated, but not really. Once you get it, it’s simple. It’s just the getting there that’s hard.”

Marcone nodded. “Still, I think presenting ourselves as a committed couple might help to shield you some from the extra-curricular activities of the fae you’ve indebted yourself to.”

“How? Because I’m not having sex with you just so I don’t have to have sex with someone else.”

Marcone smiled a bit. “We don’t have to. A few kisses, chaste and simple, a court document stating ourselves as domestic partners, and living together should show a good front to most people, and for the magical community you could present it as a start to true love. We are waiting for the right time, or saving ourselves for our love. Establishing a relationship so that we aren’t just… playing football.”

“They won’t buy it. Not for long, at least.”

“Well then, it gives us at the very least a short amount of time to come up with an alternate plan. I can begin to put things in order, and we will wait for this fae to make the next move; see what she wants before backing ourselves into a corner.”

I pushed the bowl away. “I’ll think about it,” I said. “Right now, though, I need to get my things together and do a bit of research. I have a contact who would know more about this than I do, but I have to talk to him alone.”

Marcone nodded. “I’ll call Mr. Hendricks, and have him drive you.”

“I don’t-“

“Harry. Mr. Hendricks will drive you,” Marcone said sternly. “Go clean up while he warms up the car.”

“Yes mother,” I huffed.


End file.
